To Save Them All
by Trillian Astra
Summary: LostHeroes crossover. Desmond has a dream which tells him how to save everyone on the island. Disclaimer: Don't own Lost, don't own Heroes, you get the idea. Please read and review. NEW UPDATE.
1. Desmond David Hume

It all started when I turned that key and saw my life flash before my eyes. Wait, no, that's not what it was. I went back, into my past, and I tried to change things but I couldn't. And that woman, that old woman who sold me a ring I never used, she seemed to know so much. Things she couldn't have known. And she told me I couldn't change things.

Well, I was never one for obeying orders. I saw Charlie Pace die, I saw him electrocuted and I saw him drown, and I kept him alive both times. I changed things, and for now he's still alive. I can't help thinking, as I live my life here on the beach, that maybe I can save him, once and for all.

And whenever I do, I think back to the old woman and she's telling me that I can't change his fate, or anyone else's.

The day everything changed started as a very ordinary day on the beach. I woke up – I'm still getting used to sleeping for longer than 108 minutes at a time – got some fruit for breakfast, worked on my shelter, made a few improvements. In the afternoon I sat down to rest, and I ended up falling asleep in the warm sunshine.

I felt a hand touch my shoulder, and my eyes flew open. I saw a small boy with brown skin and dark hair standing next to me.

"Who are you?"

The boy smiled, but didn't answer, and instead started to walk away.

"Wait!"

He stopped and turned back to me, beckoning to me to follow him.

"Is this a dream?"

He nodded, smiling broadly, and beckoned to me again. I got to my feet and hurried after him. He led me towards the jungle, disappearing into a mass of foliage. I hesitated for a moment, then I saw a small brown hand emerge from the leaves, grasp my hand, and pull me in after him. I stumbled forward, pushing branches away with my free hand, so it came as quite a shock when I found myself not in the middle of a jungle but standing on a busy street in a city that looked a lot like New York. I felt a soft tug at my hand, and when I looked down I saw the little boy walking away from me. He paused quickly, and turned back to smile at me once again. Then he pointed at something behind me, and disappeared into the crowd. I turned to see what he had been pointing at, and the first thing I saw was a Japanese man with glasses who appeared to be carrying a sword across his back. He smiled, a broad cheerful grin, and said in heavily-accented English "Do you know the Cheerleader?" before moving away. Then I looked around, and saw that most of people around me had disappeared, leaving only a few standing alone or in small groups. A blonde woman and a small boy with dark curly hair, a man dressed as a police officer, a man in a smart business suit standing with a younger man in hospital scrubs. A pretty teenage girl in a cheerleader's outfit and a man in a paint-spattered artist's smock.

_Save the cheerleader…_

I heard the whisper, but I couldn't work out where it was coming from. It… echoed… around me, then I heard the rest of the phrase.

…_save the world_

I saw the young man in scrubs, the Japanese man and the artist walk over to the girl in the cheerleader's outfit, and I watched them guide her away in safety. Then, the other people started to turn and walk away in silence. I looked around, tried to talk to someone, but no-one could hear me. I saw the little brown-skinned boy appear once more, but this time he went straight to a tall Indian man, and they walked away together – though the boy turned and waved at me before he disappeared.

Eventually, I was left alone on a deserted city street. I searched for someone – anyone – who could tell me what was going on. Suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder, and when I turned I saw the Japanese man smiling up at me again.

"Hello. Um… who are you?"

"My name is Hiro Nakamura. I was sent to America with a mission. And now, I must pass on a message. Please, what is your name?"

"Uh…Hume. Desmond Hume. What message, what mission?"

"You are Desmond Hume? This is good, this is very good, the message is for you, sir."

"What message?"

"It is very short. The message is "Save the junkie, and you can save them all." Do you understand that, Mr Hume?"

"I don't know… is there anything else?"

"That is all. But do not fear. I was given a similar mission, to save the Cheerleader. I am sure that if you can save the Junkie, whoever they are, you will succeed."

"Uh.. I really don't know what's happening…"

"I have to go now, but remember – Save the junkie, save the world. It is most important."

Then the little Japanese man disappeared, walking away from me just as the other people had. And then, I turned once more, and saw the jungle behind me. I took a deep breath, and pushed through the branches and leaves. Then I felt a branch hit the back of my head, and I woke up back, lying on the sand near my shelter. I sat up, and rubbed my eyes, and found that I still had those words drifting through my mind…_save the junkie, save the world_.

I spent most of the day thinking over what I'd seen. I suppose anyone else would have written the experience off as a dream, but I know better. I don't know what happened, and I don't know how it happened, but I know it's important. I spent so long thinking about those six words, staring out to sea and trying to make some sense of it all.

When it started to get dark, Claire came over with some fruit, holding the baby on her hip. She put the food down and sat down on the sand next to me.

"Desmond? Are you all right?"

"What? Oh, Claire…" I looked down at the sand and saw the fruit she'd brought. "You brought food… thanks."

"I noticed you've been sitting here most of the day, I thought you could do with something to eat."

"Yea, I've had a lot to think about."

"Do you feel like talking about it?"

"I don't think it would make sense to you. It barely makes sense to me."  
"Well, if you need someone to talk to, you know where my tent is."

"I might take you up on that."

Claire got up then, and headed back to her tent where Charlie was waiting. I watched her walk over to him, watched her put Aaron down in his crib, watched her kiss Charlie on the cheek as they sat down to eat together.

Then I remembered… Charlie had been a heroin addict, hadn't he? In one of our talks, Claire had told me all about it. She'd been so worried about him after he found those statues full of the stuff in the jungle, she said.

Save the junkie, save them all. Well, Charlie was the only person on the island who could possibly be described as a junkie. So if saving everyone else – Claire and her little son, Hurley, Rose and the others who lived on the beach – meant saving Charlie, then Charlie had to be saved.

I smiled then, remembering what the old woman had told me about not being able to change things. I knew in that moment, that she was wrong. I knew what I had to do.

_Save the junkie, save the world_.


	2. James 'Sawyer' Ford

**Author's Note: After careful consideration, I've worked out where this story is going, and how to continue it. From now on, each chapter will be told from the perspective of a different character. This chapter is Sawyer's, other Losties will get their turn later.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Lost and I don't own Heroes. **

**(There is some swearing in this chapter. Nothing very bad, I promise, but… well, writing Sawyer means that swearing is going to happen eventually.) Please read and review, as usual.**

Last thing I remember, before I had a bag pulled over my head, was the sky turning purple and loud, earsplitting noise that seemed to come from everywhere at once. After that, there's nothing.

I woke up lying on the dirt floor of a cage, with some kind of rusting equipment along on side. I looked around, seeing two other cages nearby – one empty, and one occupied by a sleeping teenage boy. My head was killing me, and I could see a small bandage on my arm, near the elbow. I pulled it off, revealing a small needle-mark.

"What the hell…. where am I?"

I tried testing the bars of my cage – they looked old, and rusted, so I thought they might be easy to shift. "Hey! Lemme outta here! Hey, anyone there?!"

As I yelled some more, gripping the bars of the cage, I could feel myself getting hotter but put it down to the island's climate and the lack of drinking water in the cage. I didn't notice what had happened until much later, after one of the Others brought Freckles out and put her in a nearby cage, and I figured out how the food mechanism in my cage worked.

In a moment of boredom – and God knows there were enough of those – I was walking around the cage when I noticed something odd about two of the bars. The metal had melted in a patch about the width of a hand on each bar.

"Huh?"

I touched the melted place on one of the bar, and remembered that I had been holding those bars, in those exact places, when I was yelling for someone to let me out. I remembered feeling hot at the same time. "No… this is impossible…"

I thought I'd worked out what was going on, so I thought I'd test it. Sitting down on the ground, I tentatively reached out and grasped a bar, but nothing happened. "O-kay… this is weird."

I knew the first time, I had been angry when _it_ happened, so I tried thinking of things that made me angry, waiting for the hot feeling again. When I started heating up, I touched the bar again, letting go quickly to see it melt and then cool down. "Whoa…."

Since I thought I'd worked out what was happening, I thought I'd experiment a bit. I found a few twigs and some leaves on the ground, and made myself angry again. I picked up a twig, concentrated, and watched as it started to smoulder. I put out the burning twig, and tried to ignite a dry leaf by touching it, just with one finger, and I saw it burst into flame.

"Son of a bitch…"

I experimented a few more times, using up all the twigs and leaves I could find. I found I could melt patches on the metal bars just by touching them with a single fingertip. I tried to make fire without having anything to burn, by holding my hand outstretched, palm up, and concentrating on making a flame appear. I tried several times, but by the time it got dark I still couldn't do it.

For the next week, I practised. I learnt to control the fire, even though I still didn't understand how this was happening. I figured out how to produce a small fireball in the palm of my hand, that I could put out by closing my hand into a fist.

When Freckles and I escaped almost two weeks later, I didn't tell her. When we eventually made it back to the beach camp, I didn't tell anyone. I want to try and figure out how this happened to me first.


	3. Claire Littleton

It started as just another day. I woke up, fed Aaron, went for a walk on the beach, everything I normally do. Then I asked Sun to look after Aaron, and Charlie and I went to pick more fruit in the jungle.

We decided that Charlie would climb up a tree, and throw the fruit down to me. We'd already done that for two papaya trees and gathered lots of bananas, and the bags we had brought were almost full, so we decided to do just one more tree before heading back to camp. Charlie climbed up quickly – he's got really good at climbing trees since we've been here – and started throwing the papayas down to me.

While he was up there, though, something strange happened. The last big storm had broken some of the branches, and there were still dead branches tangled up in the living ones. While Charlie was reaching for the fruit, he disturbed a tangle of dead branches and they fell out of the tree.

I should have been hit by one of those branches, they fell right on top of me. Or at least, they should have done. When the first branch was six inches from my head, it stopped.

Just like that, it stopped. I had expected it to hit me, and I was about to duck, but when I realised it wasn't going to fall I looked up and saw it… hovering, just hovering in the air over my head. Charlie had climbed down out of the tree, and was standing there with his mouth open, staring at the branch.

"Charlie… what's happening?"

"I really don't know."  
"That branch is hovering, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, it's definitely hovering."

"Do you have any idea why?"

"I don't, actually."

"Charlie, I need you to help me."

"Okay."

"Reach up, and get hold of that branch. See if there's anything unusual about it."

Charlie tentatively grasped the branch with both hands, and put it down on the ground. We both knelt next to it, trying to see if there was any sign of it being anything but an ordinary branch, trying to see if it could explain what had just happened.

"It's just a branch, Claire."

"I know… but how could that have happened?" I noticed that Charlie seemed distracted. "Charlie? Charlie, what's wrong?"

"Claire, did you know there's a bubble around you?"

"A what?"

"A bubble."

"How can you tell?"

"You know with soap bubbles, and when the light hits them you can see different colours in them?"  
"Yeah…"  
"Well, it's like that. If I look at it just right, I can see these colours swirling around like there's a bubble around you."

"Um… that's weird."  
"Uh-huh."

"Wait… hang on a tick, maybe the bubble is what made the branch hover…"

"How could it do that?"

"Haven't you ever read comic-books? The bubble's like a… a force field. Protecting you. The branch was going to fall on you, and hurt you, so the bubble appears and stops the branch falling."

"Charlie, that sounds kind of crazy. How could this happen, there's never been a bubble around me before."

"Come on, think of where we are. So much crazy stuff has happened since the crash, this isn't nearly as bad as some of the stuff that's happened."  
"I know, but… a bubble?"

"Yeah… it is sort of weird. Cool, though."  
"How?"

"You've got an automatic protection system. Anything happens, the bubble will just appear and stop it." He turned his head, looking at me strangely again. "Hey, it's gone again."

"Maybe it knows I'm not in danger any more."

**Author's Note: Okay, you're probably wondering why Claire has that particular power… well, I was re-watching some Season One episodes the other day, including Claire's first flashback episode (Raised by Another). In that episode, the psychic she visits tells her that she, and only she, must raise Aaron, because Claire is the only one who can protect him. **

**Basically, I'm trying to link everyone's 'power' to either their personality, their history, or both – so Claire's power enables her to protect, Sawyer's reflects his "hotheadedness"… and so on. When I've introduced all the powers, I'll do a list to summarize everything for you.**

**With that in mind, if anyone has a particular Lostie that they would like to see with a particular power, put your idea in a review and I'll do my best.**


	4. Isaac Mendez

**Author's Note: Okay, because this is a Lost/Heroes crossover, I decided to do something a little different for this chapter. I promise we'll get back to the Losties and their powers in part five, but right now Isaac Mendez has just had a very strange experience that you might want to know about.**

**Disclaimer: Yeah, I know, I don't own Lost and I don't own Heroes. **

**In case you're wondering why I chose Isaac when I could have used Peter: I like Isaac. I think he is greatly underrated. Also, his more… fractured life suits the tone of this chapter better than Peter getting all angsty and emo. Any Peter-obsessives who don't like me calling him emo – tough. My story, my rules. **

Isaac Mendez sat in his New York studio, wondering how his life had fallen apart so spectacularly. It was all his fault, that Petrelli boy, he started it all, he made Isaac shoot Simone, he ruined everything.

He felt the need to fit something, clenching one hand into a fist and swinging it into a large, empty paint can. As it clattered to the floor, he felt another vision coming to him. He reached for his brushes, and he started to paint what he saw.

_Five Hours Later_

When the visions left Isaac once again, he looked up and saw that he had covered canvas after canvas with paintings. There was even a small painting on the inside of the front door. He looked carefully at each painting in turn, trying to decipher them.

This is what Isaac painted while he was in his trance:

A large canvas, that showed only a large dome surrounded by water. The dome was a vague grey-purple colour, and if he looked carefully he could just make out the shape of what could be an island, hidden inside the dome.

Another large canvas, this time showing three figures, each kneeling with their hands bound, on some kind of wooden jetty. Each of the figures had a bag over its head.

A smallish, square canvas, showing a small boat in the middle of an ocean. Inside were a man and a small boy. This painting puzzled Isaac, because however he looked at the boy, he could never quite see the same child twice. It was as if the boy didn't want to be looked at.

One of his biggest canvases had the least on it. Lots of violet, and traces that suggested an explosion, and right in the centre, a buckled, square piece of metal stamped with the word QUARANTINE on one side.

The most important painting, however, is the small one he painted on the inside of the studio door, when he ran out of canvas but still had so much to paint. The picture showed the burnt-out fuselage of a passenger plane, half-buried in the sand of a tropical beach. His eyes widened as he realised what he had painted. "A plane crash… I'm supposed to stop a plane from crashing?"

Then, his gaze fell on something in the middle of the picture. A logo, painted on the side of the fuselage. He could make out the words "Oceanic Airlines" underneath the logo. He dropped the handful of brushes he had been holding, and ran to the desk, pulling out a laptop computer from underneath a pile of old papers. He quickly turned the computer on and did a search, typing in "Oceanic Airlines Plane Crash Tropical Island". He waited anxiously for the search results, and when the list finally appeared his jaw dropped.

The very first item on the list was a news story about the disappearance of Oceanic Airlines Flight 815, which should have been just an ordinary passenger flight from Sydney to Los Angeles. He clicked on the link, and read an article that told of how the plane had simply vanished into thin air, about six hours into the flight.

At the end of the article was a full list of everyone who had been on that plane. The site had already told him that no survivors had been found, but that no-one had found any bodies either. He scanned the list quickly, and soon got another two surprises. Every name on that list seemed familiar, because he had drawn the flight manifest in one of his sketchbooks three weeks ago. He hadn't known what it was then, but the list he had drawn and the one on the computer matched perfectly.

His second surprise was more personal. One of the names on the list of missing passengers was a Michael Dawson, who the website said was an aspiring artist from New York. He _knew_ Michael, they had met years ago at an exhibition, he had been helping him get established as an artist, until Michael's girlfriend at the time got pregnant and he had to get a better-paid job.

Isaac re-read the article, not once but twice, and sat for a long hour as he tried to think of his next move. He had a vague notion that he ought to tell Bennet, but he didn't think Bennet would be able to help, even if he could be contacted. But Bennet had only wanted paintings of the cheerleader, and he doubted Linderman would want any of these. After all, the plane crash he had painted had happened a couple of years ago. He still didn't understand how he could have painted this, his gift let him paint the future, not the past…

Or maybe not. Maybe it was simply the case that before now, he had only seen the future, but he had always had the ability to see the past, and it had not manifested until now.

Eventually, Isaac decided to gather up all the canvases with the odd paintings, wrapped a piece of tarpaulin around them, and stowed them in his storage area. And then he tried to sleep, but instead he spent a restless night tossing and turning and dreaming fractured dreams of airplanes and islands and buttons to push and a girl giving birth in a jungle, and a hundred other splintered images. Most of them fitted together in a way that made sense, even the girl in labour…

But even when he woke up the next morning, he still didn't understand what the polar bear was doing there.

**Coming up next chapter: Part Five will be Kate's. Shall I give you a hint about her power? Oh, okay then. Hint coming up…**

**Kate Austen has always been able to disappear if she needed to, to evade the Marshal and his friends in the FBI. And in part five, well… let's just say it's to do with a rather different meaning of one of the words in the first sentence of this paragraph. **

**Hee hee, I like being enigmatic. If you liked this, I'd be most obliged if you would drop me a review. **

**Namaste,**

**JsyGirl. **


	5. Kate Austen

The last thing I saw, before _they_ dragged us away, was Sawyer writhing on the ground after he was hit by a tranquilliser dart. I started to run over to him, but then I felt a dart hit me as well. I vaguely remember Jack picking me up, and then the dart must have taken effect and I blacked out.

I don't know where they took us. When I opened my eyes, I was in some kind of small hut, lit by a single lamp hanging from the ceiling. I looked around, seeing Jack next to me. When I looked over, he smiled weakly. "Are you okay, Kate?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so. You?"  
"I'm fine."

I looked across the small room, seeing Sawyer sitting opposite me. "Yeah, I'm fine too, Freckles."

"Do either of you have any idea where we are?"

"No."

"Sorry, no idea."

Not long after I woke up, some of the Others arrived and pulled us to our feet. They tied my hands together behind me, and gagged us all with strips of black cloth. Then they dragged us out of the hut, and down to the end of a small jetty. I saw Hurley already there, also gagged and tied up, and kneeling with several Others nearby. They made us kneel as well.

I watched as Michael sailed away in a small boat without even glancing back at us, then they sent Hurley back to our camp and a bag was pulled over my head. They must have knocked me out after that, because when I next woke up I was sitting on a cold concrete floor in a bare room. There was a lightbulb that gave a little dim light, just enough for me to see that I was alone. Suddenly, the knowledge that Jack and Sawyer weren't with me filled me with terror. I pulled my knees up to my chest, and sat there in that cold, damp room, afraid to do anything.

I heard footsteps outside. They stopped when the person outside reached the door, and I heard a key turn in the lock. I froze as the door opened slowly, and the tall man from the jetty - Tom - stepped inside. He looked around the small room, a frown of confusion appearing on his face. He called to someone outside. "Hey, Richard, I thought they put Austen in here."

What he said didn't make sense. The room was tiny, and though I was sitting in a corner he should have been able to see me easily. I heard what the other man said, too.

"Yes, Austen was taken here, Room 3. Isn't she in there?"

"Nope."

"Anywhere for her to hide?"

"Nothing. The room's not big enough."

"Her guards are probably still bringing her. I don't know, maybe they stopped to let her use the bathroom or something."

"Yeah, you're probably right. C'mon, let's go and find her."

He shrugged, then shut the door and locked it again. I listened to their footsteps, and when I knew they were far away I took a deep breath, and counted to five slowly, remembering the story Jack had told me when I first met him.

The terror disappeared, and I immediately stood up and started to examine the door, checking the lock and hinges. It didn't take long – the hinges and door were solid, I couldn't get out unless they decided to unlock the door. I paced the tiny room as I tried to work out why Tom hadn't seen me. I knew I had been sitting in plain sight of the door, there was no reason why he wouldn't have seen me. It was unlikely that he had pretended not to see me to let me out, because someone else had been present. Someone who seemed to be important.

It was as if I had been invisible.

--------------------

They left me in that room for what felt like hours. When someone eventually came back, they gave me a sandwich and a bottle of water, and a promise that I would not be there for long. Obviously they could see me now, but this time I was calm, before I had been scared of what might happen. As I ate, I had a thought – what if I _had_ been invisible, just for a few minutes? Maybe I'd been so afraid of what the Others might do, I had somehow made myself invisible to keep myself safe. I put the remains of my sandwich back on the plate, and tried to do it again. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I closed my eyes and concentrated on making my hand invisible. I felt a strange tingling in my left hand, and slowly opened my eyes.

My whole left hand and forearm had disappeared. I moved my fingers little, and touched it with my other hand. It was definitely invisible. I had managed to make my left hand invisible. Now, I closed my eyes again, and concentrated on making my hand reappear. This time when I opened my eyes, my hand was right there, as if nothing strange had happened.

Later, they moved me again. First they let me shower, then eat, then they left me in an outside cage. Sawyer was in a similar cage nearby. I didn't see Jack at all.

I didn't tell anyone about what I could do. I would practice at night, when it was less likely that someone might notice. Eventually Sawyer and I escaped and made it back to our beach.

I still didn't tell anyone. People trust me here, I didn't want to ruin that trust by telling them that I had this weird ability.


	6. JinSoo Kwon

Part Six – Jin-Soo Kwon

[Extract translated from the Korean

Everything changed the night Walt was taken by the Others. It happened very fast – Sawyer was shot, and fell into the water. As the Others sailed away with Walt, I dived in to get Sawyer out of the water.

But the current was too strong, and I couldn't reach him. I heard Michael call out – I think he was shouting for Walt – and I heard Sawyer's voice as well, but the current stopped me from being able to swim towards what was left of the raft.

I trod water for as long as I could, but it was cold and I soon found myself becoming drowsy. As I slipped beneath the waves, the last thought in my head before I fell unconscious was that I would never see Sun again.

I was not expecting to wake up again, so I was very surprised to wake up underwater. I tried to fight my way to the surface, but I had sunk too far. After a moment, I realised that I was able to breathe perfectly. I should have been fighting for oxygen, but I wasn't. As I floated underwater, I glanced at my hand. I had to squint, it was so dark, but it looked like there was webbing between my fingers. I reached up to my neck, and felt thin flaps of skin that hadn't been there before. There was no blood, so I knew it wasn't a wound.

I had gills.

Slowly, I was able to swim to the surface. When I finally got there, I gasped for air, filling my lungs, and had a good look at my hands. It was daylight now, and I could clearly see the webbing between my fingers. I felt my neck, and found that the gills were starting to close up. I quickly ducked under the water again, and felt them open.

Back on the surface, I looked around, seeing the island away on the horizon. I was able to swim back to the shore, and eventually – a day later – collapsed on the beach. Two women found me, and not long after that I found Michael and Sawyer on the shoreline. By that time the webbing and gills had disappeared. I tried to tell them what had happened. But they couldn't understand me, so I kept quiet about it.


	7. Hana Gitelman and Micah Sanders

Part Seven – Hana Gitelman and Micah Sanders

Transcript of an Instant Messenger conversation

**Wireless** has logged on.

**MicahS** has logged on.

**Wireless**: Hey Micah.

**MicahS**: Hey Hana. How's everything?

**Wireless**: Same as usual. You?

**MicahS**: I found something. It's kind of weird.

**Wireless**: Want me to take a look at it?

**MicahS**: Thanks. There's this website I found. A blog belonging to this artist guy in New York. The address is www(dot)isaacmendez(dot)com. Check out the picture gallery and get back to me.

[15 minutes later

**Wireless**: Micah? Are you there?

**MicahS**: Yeah. Did you look at the pictures?

**Wireless**: Yes. What did you think of them?

**MicahS**: It looks like Isaac has a power. Looks like he can see stuff from the future, maybe the past as well. I checked out the plane crash in one of his paintings.

**Wireless**: Find anything?

**MicahS**: Yeah. Flight 815 – that's the plane in the paintings – disappeared over the Pacific Ocean back in 2004. A bit later they claimed to have found the plane in an ocean trench, but that was in Bali, and the plane was flying from Sydney to L.A.

**Wireless**: You think there's something going on?

**MicahS**: It doesn't add up. Could you check it out?

**Wireless**: I'll see what I can do. If there's something going on, there must be a trail.

**MicahS**: What do you think is happening?

**Wireless**: Maybe the plane crashed somewhere, and wherever it crashed is somewhere that we're not meant to know about. So someone covered it up by "finding" some fake "wreckage" in Bali.

**MicahS**: Hm. Maybe.

**Wireless**: I'll let you know what I find, OK?

**MicahS**: Sure. If you need help with anything, just ask.

**Wireless**: I will. Bye.

**MicahS**: Bye, Hana.

**Wireless **has logged off.

**MicahS** has logged off.


	8. Dr Jack Shepard

Part Eight – Dr. Jack Shepard

Not long after he qualified, Jack Shepard operated on a teenage girl. During the operation he accidentally tore something in her spine. Nerves spilled out all over the place.

The terror took over, but just for five seconds. Then he pushed it to one side, repaired the damage, and the girl was fine.

If anyone else besides Jack had been operating that day, the girl would have died on the operating table.

Later, a young woman named Sarah was involved in a car accident. She was told she would never walk again, but after Jack Shepard operated on her she regained feeling in her legs.

Sarah and Jack got married – they were happy for a time, but they separated. If Jack had not been the one who operated on her, Sarah would still be paralysed from the waist down and they would never have married.

After the crash of Flight 815 on a supposedly uninhabited island, Jack became responsible for the forty-odd survivors of the crash. When Charlie Pace was found hanging from a tree – left there by a man who had infiltrated the survivors and kidnapped a young pregnant woman – Jack was able to resuscitate him.

If Jack had not found him, Charlie would not have been revived

Jack does not know, but he has a gift no other doctor possesses. He possesses the gift of healing. He has treated numerous people during his career who would otherwise have died.

He believes that his good success rate is due simply to skill and luck.

Soon, he will learn that, though luck was indeed a factor, he is more than just another surgeon.


End file.
